


Money Isn't Everything

by TroubleIWant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroubleIWant/pseuds/TroubleIWant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles slurps at the dregs of his iced hazelnut latté, pretending he doesn’t need a refill just yet. Supporting your local business is great and all, but Isaac charging $5 for a coffee with syrup is highway robbery. He’s already cut his expenses down to the bare minimum, and splurging for foofy drinks is not in the budget. Except that he can’t really help himself: black coffee is plain gross. Maybe I should plan on marrying rich, he thinks darkly.</p><p>Or,</p><p>Stiles has a huge crush on the super-hot guy he always sees at Isaac's coffee shop, but when he finds out that they guy's an unemployed orphan he has to decide if the difference in their financial situations is a deal-breaker, or just a bump on the path to true love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Money Isn't Everything

It’s 10:04 on a Wednesday, and Expresso Yourself is nearly empty, totally quiet and 100% boring. Which is awesome, Stiles reminds himself, because boring equals conducive to working, and working is exactly what he came here to do.

Moving to the Bay Area near Scott and the rest of the gang requires money, is the problem. If he isn’t careful, he’s going to end up living with his father in the friggin’ suburbs for the rest of his life. Sure, he’s only freelancing for now, but that will still look better on a resume than “ranked Diamond Tier in League of Legends.” Eventually he’s gonna get a real, actual, full time job. Then maybe he’ll be able to afford to rent a small room in one of the less-worse parts of Oakland, with roomies who hopefully don’t smell.

Stiles groans. Even his fantasies are depressing these days. Stupid English degree. He slurps at the dregs of his iced hazelnut latté, pretending he doesn’t need a refill just yet. Supporting your local business is great and all, but Isaac charging $5 for a coffee with syrup is highway robbery. He’s already cut his expenses down to the bare minimum, and splurging for foofy drinks is not in the budget. Except that he can’t really help himself: black coffee is plain gross. _Maybe I should plan on marrying rich,_ he thinks darkly.

The small bell by the door gives a cheery ding-a-ling and Stiles whips his head around so fast he almost sprains his neck. A blonde woman stands just inside holding a squirmy toddler and looking like she’d kill for some caffeine. Stiles’ face falls, but he knows he should be grateful that it’s only a stranger. He’s here to work, damn it. His cursor blinks mockingly at him from his blank word doc. His fingers hover uncertainly over the keys. Working. He’s going to work any second now.

Despite his best intentions, the bell ringing again has him whipping around to check the door exactly as fast as before. His pavlovian reaction is a bit embarrassing, but at least this time his hope is justified: walking into the shop, in all his glory, is The Distraction. Exactly the man Stiles wanted to see.

Sighting confirmed, Stiles slouches, nice and casual, and fakes deep perusal of his screen. The true object of his attention heads up to the counter, holding his beat up travel mug. He’s wearing that one green sweater again, and the darker pair of jeans. He seems to cycle through the same two pairs of pants and three tops at all times - the red one with thumb holes, the grey henley on warmer days, and Stiles’ favorite, this green loose-knit sweater that’s developing a scraggly hole in the left elbow and looks like it’s seen better days. It brings out his eyes, though, which are a magical hazel comprised of of burnt umber, sea glass green and flecks of pale grey.

Isaac greets the man with his traditional “hey,” and Stiles scowls. Would it kill him to use a name once in awhile?

So, okay, technically Stiles doesn’t know The Distraction any better than he knows Toddler Lady, but he’s working on it. And he has made a certain amount of progress: As well as giving a shockingly detailed description of the guy’s wardrobe and eyes, he could tell you all about his coffee order (Sumatra drip, black), shaving habits (intermittent), and his schedule (hanging out at Espresso Yourself most days starting between 10am and 11am, eating a packed lunch, not leaving before three). It’s not really stalking if you’re just in the same place and notice these things, is it?

The Distraction walks back past his table, coffee in hand, and as he passes he gives Stiles a tiny smile and tip of his mug. Stiles nods back, nice and casual. It’s tricky to pull off casual, though, because his heart is going a million miles a minute. All his afternoons shooting glances have paid off! They’ve been upgraded from people who often sit in the same space to people who nod politely at each other. What did he say? Progress!

He watches out of the corner of his eye as The Distraction picks his usual spot by the window and fishes a book out of his beat up laptop bag. No computer, as usual. The Distraction is always there for hours, almost as long as Stiles, but only to read, or write in a journal, and (of course) to distract Stiles. Unlike Stiles, The Distraction isn’t doing any work at the coffee shop, despite the hours he puts in. Stiles is pretty unclear about when he actually does work. Clearly not a 9-to-five, but maybe retail? No, not with the regular-as-clockwork hours he keeps. Maybe he has a night shift? But then he would need to be sleeping now.

Honestly, the mystery is part of why the guy’s so distracting. Stiles isn’t even pretending to write now, busy gazing at The Distraction - who is ironically not at all distractible himself. He seems to forget he’s even in public he gets so into his books. Today he’s resting his cheek on his palm, his mouth moving ever so slightly as he follows the story, not reading but echoing the emotions of it with tiny frowns and smiles and ‘oh’s of surprise. Stiles might just up and die at how cute it is. The Distraction turns his head slightly to look at the facing page, brushing his lips up against the cuff of his sweater. Stiles adjusts himself in his seat. The Distraction gives a tiny smile at something in his book, and then he absentmindedly nibbles his bunny teeth into the cuff of his sweater. Stiles actually whimpers.

There’s only so much ogling you can do before it starts to seem creepy, and Stiles reaches his limit about fifteen minutes later. He gets quite a bit of work done after that, because it’s gotten to the point where having The Distraction around is less distracting than waiting on tenterhooks hoping he’ll come in. Sure, Stiles still sneaks a few looks over at the corner table, and yes, he does get drawn off into a half-hour gchat with Scott about the sleeve nibbling incident, but on the whole it’s a productive day.

The Distraction closes his book with a contented sigh and leaves around three - and on his way out, Stiles gets another nod. Stiles dares to smile back. This is more than progress, they’re practically acquaintances now. He vibrates in his seat for a safe count of five after the door closes behind The Distraction and then he launches himself towards the counter.

“Isaac, man, hey, have I told you how nice that scarf looks on you?”

“What do you want,” Isaac says flatly.

Stiles draws back with an hand to his chest signaling offense. “Sheesh, rude! I’m a paying customer! I might be trying to place an order!”

“So you want a coffee?”

“Well, no,” Stiles admits. Isaac rolls his eyes, possibly because Stiles has never bought something to-go in the three months he’s been in Beacon Hills. Stiles clears his throat. “Look, bro, you gotta help me out. Do you know that guy who’s always in here?”

Isaac looks genuinely confused. “What?”

“The guy, you know,” Stiles says impatiently. “The guy who always sits in the corner and distracts me with his perfectly symmetrical face.”

Isaac’s eyebrows jump up his forehead in recognition. “You mean Derek? Derek Hale?”

“Derek,” Stiles sighs. Even his name is nice.

Isaac shakes his head “Man, you’re really not a local. Everyone knows about Derek.”

“What, he’s some kind of hometown heartthrob?” Stiles asks. ”It’s ‘cause of the stubble, isn’t it?”

Isaac rolls his eyes, leans over the counter. “No. He’s Derek Hale. As in the Hale family?” Siles look at him blankly. “The Hale house fire?”

Stiles blinks, and opens his mouth to say “huh?” but stops himself. Actually, he does remember something. He’d grown up in Beacon Hills, and he thinks one of his Dad’s friends from the station had mentioned it at a barbecue not so long after they moved to Richmond. It must have been a big deal for it to have made an impression on him. “Right...the fire. What happened, again?”

“Derek’s psycho ex burned down his house while the whole family was sleeping. He and his sister Laura barely made it out, and his Uncle was in physical therapy for almost a year.”

Stiles blanches at the casual way Isaac tosses that information out. It’s clearly a bit of local lore that’s lost it’s bite over the years, but does he seriously mean that the rest of Derek’s family _didn’t_ make it out? Derek couldn’t have been more than sixteen when he’d lost his whole world, and at the hands of someone he’d once trusted... For him to seem so gentle and at ease after something like that is a minor miracle.

“Jesus,” Stiles murmurs faintly. For all his passive stalking, he feels uncomfortable to know something so personal without actually being told, or sharing anything in return.

Isaac’s easy nod seems pretty cold, considering the circumstances. “He took it pretty hard, even after they caught the ex and locked her up. Guilt, I guess. He finished school and everything, and he did some work with Helping Hand right after graduation, but he never really got into a career like Laura.”

“He doesn’t... work?” Stiles can’t imagine holding down a 9-5 with something of that magnitude hanging over your head, but Derek would still have to do something to support himself wouldn’t he?

Isaac shrugs nonchalantly. “I think he’s still too standoffish around new people and experiences, after what happened. So he just kind of... hangs out.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees faintly. He can absolutely see how it would be near impossible to get your head back in the space to hold down a job in the face of such a huge loss.

The thing is, getting a name and a history for The Distraction isn’t actually making him any less of a distraction. His pleasant little crush is suddenly feeling less like a meaningless fancy and more like a full blown attraction.

* * *

 

When Stiles gets home, though, he resolves not to pry any more into the tragedy of the Hales. It must be awful to live in the place where your whole family died, even more so in a place where everyone knows exactly your involvement. Hell, his own father hadn’t been able to stand Beacon Hills after his mom had died. Only now, years later, has he felt the urge to retire to the place they’d lived together. Why would Derek stick around the town where his world had ended when he doesn’t even have a job keeping him here?

Stiles does keep his resolution about “no google-fu on the personal tragedy of your crush,” but he does look up Helping Hand, just to see if they have some openings for recent college grads like him. When he opens the link, though, the information bolded on the page hits him like a blow to the stomach. Helping Hand is a retraining program for lower income and homeless people, employing mostly graduates from the program.

Jesus, Derek’s poor. He can’t afford to move. Here Stiles has been whining about his finances but he’s got work, after all. He’s not even paying rent while he crashes at his dad’s, and he has fewer loans than most people he knows due to the scholarships he’d furiously applied for Senior year, as a way of battening down his anxiety about leaving home. Derek’s orphaned and alone, without anyone to help him. If he’s not working, that must mean the town’s chipping in so he can survive. Giving him odd jobs, maybe, plus probably a place to stay, or food… everyone knew the Hales, after all.

A feeling like pity is creeping in, and Stiles forces it away. It doesn’t make Derek less of a man to have fallen hard times due to a tragedy. Sure, Stiles always thought that a steady career was a requirement for a boyfriend, but it feels scummy to write off his growing interest on account of finances. It couldn’t hurt to get to know Derek a little better, anyways.

* * *

 

“Is Derek seeing anyone?” Stiles asks Isaac by way of a greeting the next day at Expresso Yourself.

Isaac rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t use the opening to mock Stiles mercilessly. He must really like Derek, for the question to warrant a serious discussion. “No, he isn’t. Look, after Kate - the ex - he’s got trust issues the size of Texas. And then there’s the money thing,” he adds with an uncomfortable wince. “I think it just makes everything harder, so don’t mess around with him, okay?”

Stiles’ stomach twists, thinking of how he’d been tempted to write Derek off. “Money thing is not a problem! And I’m not just messing around.” Isaac looks confused, but then the bell goes and they both look over to see Derek come in. Stiles gives Derek a smile and a wave, and takes his coffee back to the table with his laptop. He watches as his crush orders, using that old, beaten up mug for the 50 cent discount. When he goes over to his own table to read, Stiles steels his nerves and walks over.

“Hey, um, hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Derek’s greeting comes out flat and honestly a little challenging. His eyebrows are scrunching down and he looks much less friendly all of a sudden.

“Yeah, so, we see each other here a lot, and I thought we should, you know... Do the greetings thing? My name is Stiles,” He is not going to be intimidated by someone who reads Divergent and nibbles his sleeves, for God’s sake. The sweater he’s wearing now has thumb holes!

“Derek,” Derek says, in an cooly amused tone that implies he already knows that Stiles knows. Stiles shoots a quick, irritated look over his shoulder at Isaac. Still, amused in any form is better than the grouchy intimidation glare from before.

“Nice to meet you,” Stiles says. He gives Derek one of his biggest grins, the one that always has Scott saying “Oh no, no way, whatever you’re thinking, no.

It has a similar effect on Derek, unfortunately. “I actually just came to read, so.”

“Yeah, I get that!” Stiles says. “I just… do you want to have coffee with me?”

Derek blinks twice quickly, apparently disarmed by the offer. But what did he think Stiles was angling for, anyways? Or maybe he’s startled because he knows he can’t afford to treat anyone, and he doesn’t want to have to admit it. “I’ll buy, you can get anything!” Stiles blurts. “On me!”

“Um,” Derek says, and is he… he blushing? “I already have a cup, today.”

“That you do,” Stiles says, nodding. He really had not thought this through very well. “So… Pastry?”

Derek laughs at the tentative offer, but he looks curious while he does it rather than mocking. Like Stiles might be an interesting person to know after all. “Apple turnover, if you’re offering.”

“I am!” Stiles confirms. “I’ll be right back.”

He gets Derek two apple turnovers, in case he’s hungry, and a chocolate croissant for himself. It’s a little awkward at first, but as they chat it gets more natural, and then easy to the point where Stiles forgets they’re basically strangers. Stiles explains his freelancing and his hopes to move out to Berkeley and San Francisco, and Derek’s interested enough to ask how he got into technical writing, and what sorts of full time jobs he’s looking for. They don’t talk about what Derek does - or doesn’t do - for work, which is fine by Stiles.

* * *

 

After that, Stiles buys Derek’s coffee pretty much every day, and they stick around to chat long after he wraps up work at three. On the fourth day, they also go for lunch around the corner, a proper date. Well, if you can call Taco Bell proper. Stiles is giddy, but also careful not to bring up anything too sensitive, family or money wise. The avoidance seems to work; Despite Derek’s situation, it’s fun and easy to hang out with him. Stiles has to admit that he might be a little bit in love.

They exchange a tentative first kiss right outside Expresso Yourself the day after their lunch. Stiles is the one to lean in first, his heart in his chest with the fear that he’s misunderstood everything and that someone as hot as Derek obviously wouldn't think of what they’re doing as dating at all - just a way to get some free food. But Derek kisses him back instantly, eagerly.

The kiss is good, really good, leaving Stiles breathless and grinning like an idiot. Even hours later, he’s still thinking about the way Derek’s beard felt on his face, the subtle, unique taste of him under the coffee. And so it’s confirmed: they are actually both on the same page about going on dates. Dates! Miraculously, they are _dating_.

It’s easy to fall into a comfortable relationship. Stiles choses cheaper dates to downplay any awkwardness, and always pays for everything. He even bluffs that he’s really uncomfortable unless he’s driving, which Derek seems to know is a lie, but it gets them smoothly away from the fact that Derek probably doesn’t own a car since he’s always biking everywhere.

Finding a way to get some privacy proves trickier. Stiles isn’t quite willing to discuss Derek with his dad on the off chance he’s insensitive about the money thing, so his place is out. He doesn’t want to pressure Derek to bring him over, either. If he has a stable home at all, it must be with multiple roommates or be a tiny place in a bad area. He might be embarrassed to bring Stiles there. Luckily, the issue is solved when Derek takes him hiking out in the preserve.

The trails are basically empty, so it’s not difficult to find a good spot to set up their picnic blanket a bit away from the path. After eating it’s only natural to stretch out, and after that it’s only natural that they roll towards one another, their soft little kisses heating up into something significantly less sweet and more heated, with their bodies pressed together in one long line. Stiles is breathless when they finally slow and ease away from each other, both flushed and happy.

“You ought to be way out of my league, It’s so weird that you’re not already taken,” he sighs in a moment of less-than-sharp post-makeout buzz. He tenses up right afterwards, because the easy answer is, of course, money.

“I’m usually more standoffish,” Derek admits. “You’re just… you.” Stiles is just about ready to relax, awkward conversation avoided, when Derek starts again. “Besides, there’s the money thing. Sometimes it feels like a forcefield keeping nice, normal people away.”

Stiles has been dreading talking about this, but surprisingly he doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as he thought. It’s Derek bringing it up, so it must be alright with him too.

“I can get that,” he says softly.

Derek looks at him quickly. “I don’t mean that I think that you’re like that, obviously,” he says.

“Of course I’m not,” Stiles assures him. “Money isn’t everything.” He’s pleased that Derek understands how he doesn’t view him as some kind of charity case. Their strategy of avoiding tough topics has been working well, but at the same time they can’t just never talk about anything serious, if they want to keep seeing one another. “It might not be my place to say, but about the money issue… you could get a job?” he offers tentatively.

Derek looks at him strangely.

“Sorry,” Stiles says, wincing. “I mean, I know with your family… you don’t need to push yourself or anything, if you’re not ready. But, it might be good. People make assumptions based on someone’s career. The money thing is what it is, but if you're working it might change how people take it.”

Derek blinks, and then nods. “Yeah. Actually, you're right. I should find something to do with myself, it’s time.”

Stiles rolls over on the blanket, propping himself up on an elbow. “I don’t mean to nag you about it. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me what you do.”

“It’s not nagging,” Derek says with a smile. “Actually, I appreciate the honesty. Everyone here knows my family, and they have these expectations about what I’m like and what I should do… it’s good to have someone with a fresh perspective. I can always see if Helping Hands could use me.”

“That sounds great!” Stiles says, shoving Derek’s shoulder in his excitement. He meant it when he said that he wasn’t going to ditch Derek over money, but it’s a relief to see him having some ambition to change his situation. It makes it seem a bit more possible that they could have a real future together. No matter how the job hunt goes, Stiles decides he’s going to tell everyone in his life about Derek. He’s too excited about how compatible they are as a couple to worry about something as irrelevant as money.

* * *

 

“Wait, so you’re really dating a homeless person?” Scott asks, with his usual talent for paring things down to the bald facts. He’s a little grainy over the Skype connection, but his expression is clearly incredulous.

“He’s not homeless,” Stiles protests. “I mean, don’t think he is. His clothes are kinda shabby, but he showers and all that, and he’s got some things he must be able to leave somewhere secure. He’s got a ton of books.”

“Maybe he’s got a locker at the Y and a library card?”

Stiles scoffs. “No. After his family died, I get the feeling the town started kind of looking after him, helping him out with stuff. Like, his bike lock is really nice. So I think somebody must be letting him have a place for cheap.”

“Right, charity. Like your dad is giving you a free room?” Scott points out.

Stiles sticks out his tongue. “You know what I mean.”

Scott nods agreeably. “If you think he’s a good guy who’s not just using you for a free meal, I trust your judgement. But I admit I’m kinda worried about your intentions here. Like, is this about saving him? You know that’s not a good way to go into a relationship.”

Stiles sighs, leaning back from the screen. “I guess it started as a savior thing?” He admits. “But it’s not anymore. He’s really great, and we get along in this way that I usually just don’t with people who aren’t you. Plus, he said he’d look for work, that’s a good sign, right? And he’s so pretty, Scott, you don’t even know. And kind, and funny, and thoughtful, and...and he’s just awesome.”

Scott laughs at Stiles’ dreamy expression, “Okay you’ve convinced me. I’ll have to come up and meet him sometime after I get my veterinary degree, yeah?”

“Totally,” Stiles smiles. “It’s almost eight, don’t you have dinner with Allison?”

Scott flails adorably. “Yikes, thanks man. See you later!” He logs off with a quick wave.

Stiles quits out of the program too, still shaking his head affectionately. Next step, convince his father that it is a great idea to be in a relationship in which he’s the more financially sound party. Yeah.

Maybe tomorrow, though.

* * *

 

In secret celebration of Scott’s approval, Stiles takes Derek to see a movie and to Olive Garden afterwards. Beacon Hills is only a subub after all, and when it comes to food options there’s dives, fast food, chains, and about three really fancy places that are way out of his price range.

Afterwards, by the Jeep, Derek catches Stiles’ hand. “It’s sweet that you always foot the bill, but you know I can afford to take you out, once in awhile.”

Stiles does know that Derek must have some disposable income, but he doesn’t want to be a drain on Derek’s limited finances, or embarrass him about what he’s able to provide. He shrugs uncomfortably. “I know you can, I just… it feels better for me to pick up the tab, you know?”

“Okay,” Derek says kindly, but there’s a bit of tension around his eyes. “I can’t say I don’t like being treated... but if you change your mind and wanna go somewhere nice, just let me know.” He winks, letting Stiles in on the joke.

Stiles smiles, enjoying the flight of fancy. It makes him feel like they must be getting really close, if Derek’s comfortable joking about this. “Somewhere nice, yeah? Where would you take us?”

“La Coquetta,” Derek says, perfectly straight faced as he names the most expensive place in town. “I hear they do wonderful foie gras.”

Stiles laughs. “Maybe for our six month,” he jokes back, faux serious tone matching Derek’s.

“We should go to my place tomorrow after coffee,” Derek says with a warm smile. “Laura’s in town, it would be nice for you to meet her.”

Stiles’ heart is suddenly beating double time. Meeting the family? “I don’t want to impose,” he demures. He’s not sure how he feels about seeing Derek’s home, in whatever form that comes.

“Stiles,” Derek says firmly but with a smile. “We’ve been going out for three months. It’s not an imposition. I want you to meet her.”

“You can bring her to coffee,” Stiles offers.

Derek sighs, like he knew all along that it was about his living situation. “It’s really okay, I want you to come over. I know it’s weird having such a... gap in our financial means, and that this is how you want to deal with it, but I want you to be part of my life, okay? And part of that is you being comfortable with how I live.”

“Okay.” Stiles says, He’s still a little concerned about the idea of the kind of place Derek can afford, but on the other hand… a part of Derek’s life? It sounds permanent and domestic and amazing. Sign him the fuck up, no matter what the house is like.

* * *

 

The next day, Stiles drives and Derek directs him up to the hills by the preserve, which seems weird because the neighborhood is mostly wealthy family homes.

“You sure?” Stiles keeps checking, but each time Derek confirms that they’re on the right track. Maybe his place is past this area, a summer cabin up in the preserve itself? Or maybe there’s an inlaw unit in the back of one of the mansions. In a way, it does make sense that a rich family would have extra room for a charity case, right?

“Right here,” Derek says, just as they come upon one of the larger mansions. Stiles pulls into the huge, u-shaped driveway.

“So, this is the house,” Derek says.

Stiles raises his eyebrows. This is clearly is a multi-million dollar place, and he’d be really surprised if the people who lived here are okay with an unemployed dude, even a community charity case, having the run of their home. Stiles bets it’s the kind of household where the silverware is actual silver.

“Hey, look,” Derek says at Stiles’ ambivalent expression. “I get it. It’s one thing knowing and different actually seeing. Just come inside. It’s a normal house. I promise.”

He gets out and strides towards the house; he looks incredibly out of place in his scruffy sweater, but Stiles follows. Maybe the people who really live here are so loaded they’re okay with Derek living in one of their rooms and maybe taking stuff. Like, they could probably afford to replace it? Stiles has no idea what the rich are actually like.

Derek has a key, anyways, and lets them in. Stiles gulps. The foyer is bigger than his Dad’s kitchen, and the floor is gleaming hardwood. There’s a Louis Vuitton bag on the end table, and two pairs of heels among the men’s dress shoes that both have red soles. He really doesn’t think they’re fake. It’s so far from what Stiles was expecting it’s surreal. There's no way Derek actually belongs here.

An impeccably dressed woman comes around the corner and Stiles freezes. This must be the real owner of the house, and he’s worried for a moment that she’ll be angry that Derek is showing the place off as if it’s his. But she doesn’t look mad, actually. Instead she comes right up and gives Derek a very continental peck on the cheek.

“Der-bear! I can’t believe you’re wearing that hideous sweater to meet your boyfriend!! Just because Mom paid way too much for it doesn’t mean it looks nice.”

“Ha, ha,” Derek says. “I like this sweater. Stiles, this is Laura. Cora’s going to be here in a bit, too, because her internship just ended and as the baby of the family she gets all the coddling rather than the pointed comments about her wardrobe.”

Wait, Stiles thinks, Cora who? Baby of the family, as in another living sister? He blankly sticks his hand out to Laura. Isaac had said it was just the two of them who got out, hadn’t he?

Laura shakes his hand with a surprisingly firm grip. Her nails are beautiful, freshly manicured. “Ooh, he’s cute,” she says.

Derek widens his eyes at her in a silent plea for her to behave. She grins back, unrepentant. “Laura thankfully lives in New York like our parents, so she will be leaving soon,” Derek says with a glare.

“Your parents,” Stiles echoes vaguely. “In New York.”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “After the fire they wanted a change of pace, like your dad.”

“Ah,” Stile says, His parents who clearly aren’t dead. His sister who is, if Lydia’s taught him anything, wearing _Chanel_. Every time Derek mentioned the money thing, the distance in their financial status, joked about going to La Coquetta and summering in France…

“Stiles are you okay?”

“I’m just… I,” Stiles says, pointing vaguely at himself and then the door. He flees.

* * *

 

“Isaac, Derek is _rich_ ,” Stiles yells over the sound of the bell announcing his entrance.

The expression on Isaac’s face is purely nonplussed, as if the axis of the world somehow hasn’t shifted 180 degrees. “Uh, yeah? I told you, he’s a Hale. They own like half this town. What did you think I meant about the money thing?”

“I just… but he… he wears the same four pieces of clothing all the time! He only ever buys black coffee! He bikes everywhere because he doesn't have a car and he brings his own mug for the discount and then sits in your shop for hours! He fucking brings his own sandwiches to eat here! What is he, some kind of cheapskate?”

“Stiles, he tips me in $50s,” Isaac says flatly. "I don't care if he doesn't like our lunch options."

“You said his family was dead!”

Isaac’s jaw drops. “What, when?”

“There was a fire when everyone was asleep! Derek and Laura barely made it out!”

“Jesus, Stiles, the fire alarms woke them up, nobody died!” Isaac looks horrified. “Derek and Laura were only in trouble because they went back for the family cat. You seriously thought his entire family was burned alive? What kind of sicko would come up with something like that?”

Stiles deflates. He hears all about his dad’s work as Sheriff, and morbidity is kind of an occupational hazard of police work. “But wait, you said he works at Helping Hand!”

“Yeah, he did some accounting for them when their CFO was on maternity. Wait, youactually thought he was working as like, a food prep assistant? This whole time you honestly thought he was _poor_?”

“Kind of?” Stiles admits, blushing at just how incorrectly he’d read everything. “I just thought he was... traumatized by his parents deaths and subsisting off the good will of the town?”

Isaac starts to laugh, hard. “Oh, my God. Derek Hale, impoverished? Stiles, only you could have this problem. What tipped you off?”

“His house,” Stiles moans. “His gigantic mansion of a house.”

That shuts Isaac up. “Wait, he took you home to meet his family and you… left?”

“Well, I maybe freaked out a bit to find out I was dating freaking Warren Buffet!”

Isaac makes a face. “Oh, so you’re breaking up with him for not being Little Orphan Annie instead? I told you not to...”

“Woah, woah,” Stiles barks. “What? We’re not broken up!”

“Um, he took you home, and then as far as I can tell you ran out on him. How do you think he feels right now?”

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles swears, slapping a hand to his forehead. He was so shocked to realize that his supposedly poor boyfriend was surprise wealthy that he’s only now considering what his reaction must have looked like to Derek.

“Yeah. If you actually want to be with him even though he’s not a charity case, you better go fix this.”

* * *

 

Stiles pulls up to the house again and rushes to the door. He’s going to knock, he is, but there's someone crying inside, huge sobs he can hear from the stoop. His stomach drops in horror. He’s a terrible boyfriend. He never meant to hurt Derek, he was just surprised. He lets himself in, jogging toward the room where the wrecked, gasping noises are coming from.

It isn’t Derek crying, though. It’s actually a young woman who looks alot like Laura, and she’s laughing so hard she looks like she might lose a lung. This must be Cora, Stiles supposes. Derek looks over when Stiles comes in, and then up at the ceiling.

“Derek,” Stiles starts.

“He thought you were an unemployed bum,” Cora sobs, clinging to Laura. She has her phone out and suddenly Stiles knows exactly how they’ve figured out why he left earlier. Fuck you, Isaac.

“I always joked that you looked like a hobo in that sweater but your boyfriend... he actually thought you were a _penniless waif_ ,” Laura says. She dissolves into helpless titters right alongside Cora.

“Laura,” Derek growls

“For...three... months!” Cora manages to choke out. “Months!” Derek levels her with a glare, too.

“Derek,” Stiles tries again. While Derek does glance over at his name, he still can’t seem to keep eye contact. “It’s fine,” he says, “we can talk over here.”

He ushers Stiles back to the entryway, out of eyesight of the two women. He crosses his arms and looks cooly at Stiles, waiting for the apology he quite richly deserves.

“I’m really sorry about thinking that you were super poor rather than fantastically wealthy,” Stiles blurts. ”And also for running out when you were trying to introduce me to your family.”

“It’s fine, in retrospect I can see how you were surprised,” Derek says flatly.

“Okay,” Stiles says, suddenly unsure. Derek looks much less annoyed and much more resigned than he was thinking he would.

“Okay,” Derek echoes. “Anyways, we’re in the clear. You can, you know,” and he waves his hand vaguely towards the door.

“Wait, what’s happening? You want me to go?”

Derek sighs. “You came back and explained how you’d mistaken me for a hard-luck case with a surprisingly positive outlook on life, and how you’ve realized that I’m clearly not. And I said we’re fine,” Derek snaps. “So you can go.”

“I don’t want to go!”

“You… don’t?” For the first time, Derek looks uncertain, a bit like the boyfriend that Stiles has gotten to know over the past months despite getting that one key detail just about backwards. “But I’m not hardworking, or disadvantaged like you thought. I haven’t overcome anything, really. I’m just an entitled one percenter with no ambition. You don’t….”

“I don’t love you for your money, or your lack of money,” Stiles interrupts. “I love the way we fit together, and hanging out and joking and talking about your books and my writing. The money doesn’t matter. I didn’t care when I thought you were poor, and I don’t care now I know you’re rich.”

There’s a long pause, long enough that Stiles is sure he’s said something wrong. Then Derek speaks up, a little breathily. “You love me?”

“Oh,” Stiles says, realizing what he’d said. “Well, yeah. I do.”

Derek’s the one who initiates this time, stepping forward purposefully and slotting their mouths together greedily, cupping the back of Stiles’ head. It’s forgiveness and relief and excitement all rolled into one perfect, heady kiss. Stiles licks into Derek’s mouth, throwing his arms happily around his shoulders, and Derek nuzzles in even closer.

“Ugh, wait,” Stiles says, breaking away suddenly. “I can’t believe you let me pay for everything! _I’m_ a penniless waif! I make $10.95 an hour with no benefits!”

Derek, who'd looked terrified when Stiles first broke away, laughs gently at his put-upon expression. “I did offer.”

“I didn’t know what I was giving up!” Stiles complains. Suddenly, a thought strikes him like a bag of bricks. “Oh fuck me, I took you to Olive Garden for a celebration. I took you to Taco Bell for our first date! I can’t believe you let me take you to _Taco Bell_!”

Derek laughs harder. “No, it’s fine, I actually really liked it.” Stiles makes a face that he hopes conveys how little he believes that Derek “I hear they do a good foie gras” Hale enjoyed the bottomless fettuccine and Dorito Supreme. It must, because Derek blushes a little. ”I liked the being treated part, anyways.”

“Well, keep those memories close,” Stiles snorts, “because you have three straight months of treating me coming up before we go back to switching off like normal people.”

“You’re really okay with all this?” Derek asks, his eyebrows quirked in an adorably hopeful expression. “You’re in for another three months?”

“At least.” Stiles steps in and kisses him firmly. “I told you before, and I’ll tell you again, money isn’t everything.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on Tumblr as [TroubleIwant](http://troubleiwant.tumblr.com/) for drabbles, Sterek reblogs, general flailing, and a disappointing amount of whining about how hard writing is.


End file.
